


Dear Diary,

by Natazz1011



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Dead Character, F/F, ghost character, ghost!veronica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 11:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12816153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natazz1011/pseuds/Natazz1011
Summary: Inspired by the prompt: "You finally build enough courage to talk to that cute someone you see everyday on the bus. Their face turns dark as they respond 'You shouldn’t be able to see me.'"





	Dear Diary,

**Author's Note:**

> I deviated greatly from the prompt due to rewrite after rewrite, and I'm very pleased with how it turned out. Thanks so much for reading, enjoy!

Heather sighed, cursing her parents for taking her car away, for the whole week. It’s not like she did anything illegal…. Alright, it’s not like she got _caught_ doing anything illegal. By the cops. Her parents may or may not have been waiting in the kitchen when her Porsche screamed up the driveway. And they may or may not have smelled the intense stench of alcohol pouring off of her. What a brilliant coincidence, that the night of Ram’s birthday party was also the night that her parents decided to give a shit about her.

 

She was still brooding over her circumstances when she completed her short walk to the bus stop. She sighed heavily, noticing the young girl sitting in the middle of the lone bench, writing in a journal, ignoring Heather’s presence. Rude. If she was going to be that way, Heather would ignore her too. She crossed her arms and flicked her head dramatically to look in the opposite direction of the girl. She added in a dramatic sigh as the bus pulled up to the stop. She moved to step onto the bus in the girl’s way, annoy her a little bit, but as she paid the bus driver she curiously noticed the girl still sitting there, hunched over her journal. Huh. She sat down in a seat where she could see the girl lift her head up and watch the bus drive away.

 

The next day, Heather returned to the bus stop, and the girl was there again, same outfit, same spot on the bench, writing. This time Heather didn’t hold back making her annoyance known. She wanted to sit on the freaking bench, but she’d never ask politely. And she didn’t have the energy to tell the stranger off. Whatever. She wouldn’t complain to her face, but Heather had no qualms with tweeting her distaste for the stranger. When she boarded the bus, sitting near the same spot, and intently watched the strange girl through the window again. Same as yesterday, she lifted her head, watching the bus drive away.

 

On Wednesday, Heather was early. Her mom was yelling at her dad and she just needed to leave. In her stressed and sleepy state, she almost didn’t notice the girl, still in her blue jacket and knitted scarf, was now sitting on the end of the bench. She was still curled around her book, but there was room to sit next to her. Mysterious. Heather watched her out of the corner of her eye as she sat down, and saw her suck in a breath, before letting out and shaking her head. Ok. As they both sat there, Heather noticed that she had her book open to the next blank page, and she held a pencil, but she didn’t write. That was probably the weirdest thing about her. Five minutes they sat there, her staring at the page, Heather trying to be subtle in her own staring.

 

The bus pulled up in front of them, drawing Heather’s attention. The girl didn’t even flinch. Heather watched the girl as she slowly stood, thinking that maybe today she would actually board the vehicle. But she didn’t budge. Heather sighed, curious, as she climbed onto the bus. She snagged a seat in the back, and same as the last two days, the girl lifted her head to watch the departing bus. But this time, Heather could see her face. She was close to Heather’s age, and was certainly cute, but what struck Heather was the sadness of her features. Dark brown eyes full of unshed tears watched as the bus roared to life. Before it pulled off the curb, their eyes met. Heather furrowed her brow, thinking, _who the hell is this girl?_ The girl stared back, before her eyes widened in fright, jumping back on the bench, mouth open in disbelief. Before Heather could even process the disturbing reaction, the bus was two blocks away and turning down another street.

 

Thursday morning was not a good morning. Heather’s parents kept her up yelling all night, so she slept too late. Then, the coffee machine decided to crap out, leaving her even later and caffeine-less. And to top it all off, there was no milk left in the fridge, but she had already poured her cereal. Awful, awful morning. She could see the bus a few blocks down in traffic as she reached the stop, the girl in the same position as always. Heather sighed as she stood next to the bench, startling the girl, which in turn startled Heather. The girl quickly shut her journal and stood before Heather, looking up into her eyes, unsure. Heather was beyond freaked out. The girl swallowed before shakily asking, in a soft but rough voice, “You… Can you-How can you see me…? He didn’t see me...” Heather was floored. What? _See_ her? Who couldn’t fucking see her? Was she insane? Was she _high_? Oh God, she was high, wasn’t she. Heather sighed, raising an eyebrow and looking down at the girl, “Listen, you’re still visible, no matter how much LSD you pop, sweetie.” The girl ignored what she said for a moment, gasping and stepping back as if she was actually shocked that Heather heard her.

 

Then the contents of Heather’s response registered, and she shook her head closing her eyes, holding her hands up in defense. “I’m- I’m not high, I swear. I couldn’t be even if I tried, ok? I’m Veronica. Sawyer. Uhm, you-you can see me, right?” Heather sighed, trying to see this girl’s angle. “Alright, listen _Veronica_ , my bus is almost here, the bus _you_ never actually take even though you basically live at this stop, and I don’t have the time to debate the capability of my eyesight with you, ok? Ok.” Heather turned to face the street, waiting for the approaching bus.

 

She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, Veronica was standing in front of her, peering up at her with a look of curiosity and pleading. Heather gasped and stumbled backward. When she regained her balance and senses, The bus was coming to a stop, and Veronica was on the bench, sitting with her legs crossed under her, journal open in her lap, and that same look fixed on Heather. Heather didn’t have time to think, she just blinked rapidly before boarding the waiting bus. She didn’t watch Veronica as they pulled away from the curb, but she knew Veronica was watching them drive away.

 

Heather spent all of her Thursday thinking of ways to avoid seeing Veronica on Friday. To top it all off, between asking people for rides, she had to try and pass off her hysterics as non-Veronica related. Which was hard. Her friend Courtney ended up giving her a ride in on Friday, and Veronica definitely noticed the lack of sassy stranger throughout her morning. She sat there, hand poised to write the next sentence, legs curled under her, and waited. The bus came before the stranger, and she could only stare at the empty seat through the window as the bus drove past, no one waiting at the stop. Because the driver hadn’t seen her. He was the last to see her. The bus turned out of her sight, and she returned her attention to her journal. What was she writing about again?

 

Heather woke up on Saturday, and her first thought was that she needed to get out of the visit to Grandma’s. But there was no fucking way out. All of her friends were busy, she wasn’t even going to think about doing homework, and she still wasn’t allowed to drive. She doesn’t know how her brain decided this was her best bet, but here she was, a few feet away from the bus stop, on a Saturday morning, and neither she nor Veronica would be boarding the bus. Veronica was sat near the end of the bench, leaving Heather enough room to sit next to her. She sat down facing the opposite direction, leaving her back to the street. Veronica laid her pencil in the center fold of her journal before closing it. She looked up at the street before her. She saw the bus a block or two down. He didn’t see her. He was the last one who saw her. Heather watched over her shoulder as Veronica stood up, walking until her toes hung over the curb. The bus was pulling up to the stop. Heather turned her back to it, prompting it to skip the stop. Among the sounds of the large vehicle she also heard Veronica’s journal hit the pavement followed by a gasp. She turned around, finding Veronica frozen, halfway bent over, reaching for her book, the bus slowly driving away from the two. Heather called out to her, concerned, “... Veronica?” Before she could respond, a car sped down the lane, slamming into what would have been Veronica, had she not been sitting next to Heather on the bench again. Heather jumped up, obviously alarmed at the other girl’s paranormal antics. Veronica turned from watching the bus, to Heather, to her journal, completely intact, not caught in the tires of the car that apparently didn’t run it over.

 

Heather jumped a little when Veronica broke the silence, “Heather? You’re named Heather, right?” Heather had no idea how Veronica could possibly know her name, but if she could survive being hit by a bus _and_ a car, and could apparently _teleport_ , then yeah, she could probably figure out her name. Heather sighed shakily, and nodded, “Heather Chandler. How—God I really don’t even want to know—but, how do you know my name?” Veronica smirked at her, but there was a genuine smile in her eyes, “Do you _really_ want to know?” Heather rolled her eyes, “What, if you tell me you’ll have to kill me?” Veronica’s smiled dropped, and she stared seriously into Heather’s eyes. Heather felt her face get warm, but was not one to lose anything, even a stupid staring contest. Veronica smiled cheekily, “No, I just read your texts over your shoulder.” Heather scoffed, offended, “Alright, creep. You don’t see me trying to peek at your diary, do you?” Veronica smiled at the jab, before her face flickered with confusion. “My diary…” she looked to the book in her hands, thumbing through the pages, reaching the next blank entry, where her pencil marked. She looked up from her book to the street. “My diary… and the bus. He didn’t see me, did he…” she spoke softly to herself, visibly working through her confusion. She stood like before, walking to the curb.

 

She stumbled, her book falling out of her grasp and into the lane. She looked both ways before stepping into the street bending over to grab the journal. She stopped in the same reaching position, frozen there, like when the bus passed earlier. Heather watched her in confusion for a moment, and then she was gone. Heather rolled her eyes to hide her fear as she turned to face Veronica next to her on the bench. Hunched over her journal, pencil in hand.

 

Heather stood, placing herself directly in front of Veronica, who lifted her head, raising an eyebrow at her. “Veronica, what the _fuck_ is your deal?” she threw up her hands, not understanding a single thing about the past week. Veronica stuck her pencil behind her ear, turning back one page in her journal, marked August thirty-first. “It was… let’s see, September first, 1989. I don’t remember it, sadly. I didn’t get to write anything about it down, not even the date. I was going to, but then the bus came. So I got up, and I tripped. And, of course, with my luck, I dropped my journal. Right in front of the bus. And I figure, ‘Hey, it’s gonna stop before it could hit me anyway, I’m at a freaking bus stop. But… he didn’t see me. So he didn’t stop. I mean, when I was slammed against his windshield he saw me, but I didn’t even live to hit the ground when he finally braked.” She looked back up at a stunned Heather, eyebrows furrowed, mouth hanging open. Veronica shut her book and set her feet on the ground, not breaking eye contact, daring Heather to say something.

 

Heather shut her mouth, swallowed, “... No shit, huh?” Veronica smiled, pleased with the response. Heather shuffled on her feet awkwardly,” So, are you- you’re a ghost? Why the hell are you still here? Shit, that’s rude don’t haunt me… Oh my God are you already haunting me?” Veronica’s face colored, “Uhm, I-uh, don’t exactly know why you can see me? Or, like, hear me. Or anything. I’ve kind of been existing in my own little bubble for the past… Wait, what year is it?” Heather furrowed her brow and gestured as if it was obvious, “Twenty-seventeen? You’ve been… dead, what, twenty-eight years?” Veronica looked around at the city, taking in everything. “Huh. I would be forty-five if he didn't hit me. Too bad I’m stuck being seventeen…” Heather nodded solemnly, allowing Veronica to mourn her stolen future, and sat down next to her on the bench.

 

“So, what exactly have you been doing for almost thirty years? Just… sitting here?” she asked. Veronica thought for a moment. “I mean… Yeah, kind of. I haven’t exactly noticed any passing of time… I’m just waiting for the bus, trying to think of what to write for my journal entry, but I can never write. Sometimes I forget why, and I’ll go through the moments… You know, going out into the street, and I remember,” she explained slowly, trying to explain herself. Heather thought about it for a second, “Like a, I don’t know, a time loop?” Veronica tilted her head, and scrunched up her face in thought, “Not really, it’s not continuous. I just… sit here. Sometimes I get that I’m dead, and I know how it happened. And sometimes I’m just… clueless.” Heather watched her in sympathy for a moment.

 

She reached over and tapped the cover of Veronica’s journal, “Enough talking about what it’s like to be dead. Veronica Sawyer, tell me about your life.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd ever be interested in a continuation or something within this universe, please let me know what you'd like to see!!!


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